


Patrick Brewer: Ghost Hunter

by kiranerys42



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, M/M, Paranormal Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: David doesn't believe in ghosts. Alexis makes him hire a ghost hunter. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 41
Kudos: 80
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	Patrick Brewer: Ghost Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> **Prompt** : An enemies-to-lovers AU with a paranormal investigator and a skeptic. Pairing of your choice! Up to the writer to incorporate this prompt in any way you wish to! 
> 
> I think this is less "enemies-to-lovers" and more "vaguely antagonistic acquaintances to ... something more, maybe?", but, well... I did my best 😂
> 
> Thank you to this-is-not-nothing for the beta read! You're the best.

It’s the day after Rose Apothecary opens when David realizes he needs help. So far, he’s managed it all on his own, somehow; even though he’s running on very little sleep most of the time, he’s managed to clean up the old general store, hammer out contracts with all the vendors, and figure out bureaucratic nightmares like getting a business license—although Ray didn’t even include a _frame_ with the license, which honestly, should be a crime.

But the day after the ‘friends and family’ soft opening that had included a _few_ too many friends and _far_ too many of David’s family members, David realizes he’s too exhausted to go on like this forever. So he puts a job listing in the Elmdale Enquirer, and a few weeks later, after many failed interviews, he’s hired Ken as a part-time sales representative and administrative assistant. His shoes leave a lot to be desired, but otherwise, he seems fine. David can tell they’ll never be close friends, but David’s beginning to think maybe he doesn’t need that many close friends. He has Stevie, and his family, and that’s enough.

There is one problem with Ken, though, and it’s that unlike David, he doesn’t seem to be willing to ignore the strange things that keep happening in Rose Apothecary. Before the store opened, David was so busy all the time that it was easy to ignore anything that seemed off. And now that the store’s open, he’s become accustomed to the occasional strange noises and cold drafts of air. It’s an old building; it’s probably nothing. David has more important things to worry about. 

“Have you thought about fixing those lights?” Ken asks one day. “They’re always flickering.”

David sighs. “I’ve had Ronnie out to look at them _thrice_ , and she says there’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Okay,” Ken says, but David can tell Ken doesn’t believe him. 

*

“Did you rearrange the candles in the stock room?” Ken asks the next day.

“What? No, they’re still—” David barges into the stock room to show Ken where the candles are, even though he _just_ showed him yesterday, but he stops in his tracks when he realizes they’re not where he left them. “What?”

“They’re over here,” Ken says, pointing in the far corner, where the candles are all shoved in a small, dusty crevice underneath the lowest shelf. “Except for the cinnamon ones? Those are way over there.” Ken points at the opposite corner of the room, on the very highest shelf. David can barely reach up there, and Ken _definitely_ can’t. 

“Huh. That’s weird.” David shrugs. “Can you put them all back over there, where they belong?”

Ken lets out a long sigh. “I’ll go get the step stool.”

*

“Late night last night?” Twyla asks sympathetically when David stops by the cafe to pick up his morning coffee a few days later. 

“Um, not really?” David spent last night watching bad horror movies with Stevie. They’d both gotten high, gorged themselves on pizza, and passed out in the Love Room before midnight. They did the same thing last October, too. David wonders if it will become a tradition. He’s not sure how he feels about staying in Schitt’s Creek long enough to form traditions there. 

“Oh, it’s just—I was at the cafe late, around 1am? Sometimes I do midnight tarot card readings, it helps me relax. And I heard some… noises?” 

“Noises? What kinds of noises?” David’s mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario: someone broke in and stole all his product. Or, maybe it was just that fucking raccoon that’s been hanging out behind the store lately. 

“Like… whooshing? It was really windy last night. And some loud _thuds_ , like doors or windows opening and closing. Oh! And also moaning. And wailing, I think?”

David blinks, and tries not to think about the similarity between the sounds Twyla just described and the sounds he heard while falling asleep to a low-budget ghost movie the night before. 

“Mm, that sounds like the raccoon. We really should do something about it.”

“Are you sure? She’s usually over near the motel at 1am. I think she has a _friend_ she likes to visit there, if you know what I mean.” Twyla blinks her eyes in what David can only assume is supposed to be a wink.

David doesn’t want to think about the fact that the neighborhood raccoon apparently has a more active love life than he does, so he leaves with his coffee as quickly as he can.

*

“Oh my _god_ , David, when are you going to do something about the ghost?” Alexis asks next time she visits the store. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David snaps.

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, you just don’t want to admit it. I heard them when I was at the cafe with Twyla last night! You have a _problem_.”

“I think Alexis has a point,” Ken agrees.

“Ken, you are a wonderful employee, but if you take Alexis’s side in this argument, I _will_ fire you.”

Ken just shrugs and goes back to work. David wonders if maybe he needs to stop making empty threats, but he _really_ doesn’t want to have to deal with the hiring process again. It was emotionally scarring, and he needs more time to recover. 

“David, don’t worry about it, I can find you a paranormal investigator. Remember when I dated that—”

“No.”

“—and he was _really_ good, he had, like, those fancy thermometers that look like a stun gun, and an old-timey compass, like they used to have on ships before they invented yachts?”

“ _No_.”

“Ooh! Maybe _I_ could do it! I could do a paranormal investigation for you, David, and I’d give you a family discount, even though you won’t give _me_ one.”

“That’s because you keep _stealing_ from me! And the store is _fine_. There’s no ghost. There’s no such _thing_ as ghosts. I don’t need—”

David is cut off by a loud _bang_ as the back door of Rose Apothecary slams shut. David and Alexis stare at each other for a moment in shock.

“Ken? Was that you?”

Ken peeks back out of the stock room. “No? I assumed it was one of you.”

David glances nervously around the store. He feels a cool breeze blow past him, even though all the doors are closed. 

“Fine,” David sighs. “You can find me a—someone. Someone to deal with the—the _problem_. But you are _not_ investigating this yourself, and I am _not_ paying you.”

“Ugh, David, I _guess_ I can waive my finder’s fee this time,” Alexis complains.

Two days later, David gets a text from Alexis.

**From:** Alexis  
  
**Alexis:** He’ll be there tomorrow when you open, so don’t be late!! 🕵️👻  
  


*

The next day, David is late.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking—” David has one hand jiggling the key in the lock to Rose Apothecary, while the other is holding his coffee. Because even when David is running late, coffee is non-negotiable.

“Can I help you with that?” a voice from behind David asks, nearly causing him to drop his coffee. 

“No thanks, I’m fine, it’s just that the key sticks in the door, and my hands are kind of full, and—”

“Seriously, let me help,” and next thing David knows, the kind stranger is reaching out to take David’s coffee. Which, while probably well-intentioned, is _not_ going to happen. David protects his coffee by holding it closer to his body, and holds out the keys instead, once he manages to get the key out of the lock. “Thank you,” David says as sweetly as he can manage. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

The most ordinary, clean-cut white man David has ever seen takes the keys with a smile. “Do you hand the keys to your store over to strangers often?” he asks. “Because if so, I think you may not need my services after all—there might be a perfectly ordinary explanation for the problems you’ve been having.”

David has no idea who this judgmental businessman in too-tight jeans and a blue button-up is, but he’s starting to get annoyed with him. “I don’t know what _problems_ you think I have, but the store is doing quite well, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I know, Alexis told me all about it,” the man says, effortlessly unlocking the door and handing the keys back to David. “I don’t mean—uh. I’m sure you’re doing quite well, business-wise. I meant your more _paranormal_ problems.” 

“I don’t _have_ paranormal problems, I have a store in a very old building and a sister who can’t mind her own business,” David snaps.

The judgmental man with terrible jeans stares at David for a moment, his face unreadable. “Well then,” he finally says. “If my services aren’t needed, I’m just going to stop by the cafe for a cup of tea.”

The man turns and walks away, and David is pretty sure he’s made a terrible mistake.

*

Twenty minutes later, the man is back, a cup of tea in one hand, and a bag of pastries in the other.

“I thought we got off on the wrong foot,” he explains, “so I brought you a donut.” He slides the bag of pastries onto the counter, sets down his tea, and holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Patrick.”

“David.” Patrick’s grip is surprisingly firm as David shakes his hand, and his palm is a little bit warm, probably from holding the tea.

“So,” Patrick begins. “Do you want to tell me about your—well. Can you tell me what’s been happening?”

“I’m sure Alexis filled you in,” David says defensively.

“She did, but I’d like to hear your version of things,” Patrick says.

So David begins to fill him in, reluctantly at first, and although Patrick’s bland youth pastor aesthetic doesn't really put David at ease, somehow his earnestness still has a way of drawing more information out of David than he intends to share. 

“So,” Patrick says, reaching into one of the pockets of his too-tight jeans and pulling out a small notebook and a pen. “You’ve got flickering lights, slamming doors, and—weird noises in the middle of the night?” he says, scribbling in the notebook as he talks. 

“Those were only reported secondhand, though,” David says defensively. “It _could_ have been the raccoon.”

“Or a raccoon ghost,” Patrick says. David hadn’t thought of that. He’s halfway to freaking out about all the mischief a _raccoon_ ghost could get up to before he realizes Patrick is probably joking. “Alright, well,” Patrick says, stuffing the notebook back in his pocket, “I should get going. But I’ll need to come back tonight to check on some more things. Can you be here around 10pm?”

“Um. It’s Friday?”

Patrick blinks at him impatiently. “And? Would tomorrow be better?”

“Tomorrow is _Saturday_.”

“Okay…?” Patrick looks absolutely bewildered. David can’t believe the nerve of him, encroaching on David’s weekend plans like this. Not that David actually has any weekend plans. But Patrick doesn’t need to know that. 

“It’s the weekend. What if I have plans?” David glares at Patrick. Patrick smiles back at him, because Patrick is a jerk. 

“Well. _Do_ you have plans?” Patrick asks. David tries to glare more, because Patrick has no right to be this nosy. But Patrick still has that annoyingly confident smile on his face.

Eventually, David gives in. “Fine. I’ll see you at 10pm tonight.” 

“Sounds good. Oh—and don’t be late!” Patrick not-quite-winks as he walks out the door, and David wonders if _anyone_ in this godforsaken town knows how to wink.

*

This time, David isn’t late. He’s early.

“Oh, there you are,” he says when Patrick strolls through the door at 10:03pm. 

To his credit, Patrick seems chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I guess it’s my turn to be late, this time.”

“Well, since you’re only”—David makes a big show of pulling out his phone, and by now, it’s 10:04pm, so he rounds up—“five minutes late, I suppose it’s not the end of the world.”

“Oh, well in that case, I was going to stop by the cafe for some more tea, so…” Patrick gestures back at the door, and turns as if he’s about to leave. 

“The cafe closed hours ago,” David says, “and if you leave right now, I will not wait around for you.”

“Well, then, I guess I’d better stay.”

“Mmhm.”

David stands behind the counter, waiting impatiently for Patrick to get started with his—paranormal measurements, or pseudoscientific performance art, or _whatever_ it is he’s doing—but Patrick doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything. He’s just wandering around the store, occasionally brushing his hand over a shelf or picking up a product to examine it before setting it back down. 

“What are you _doing_?” David snaps, after what feels like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes.

“Just—checking to see if anything feels different now, compared to earlier.”

“Mm. So it’s just a… feeling? You’re not going to, like, measure anything?”

“Oh, I’ll get there,” Patrick says, “but I like to start with qualitative data. I find it helps to contextualize the quantitative data.” 

David knows from experience that just because someone uses long words, it doesn’t mean they know what the fuck they’re talking about. Still, he can’t help but be impressed by how professional Patrick seems. He’s nothing like what David would have expected from a paranormal investigator, and his boring businessman demeanor almost makes David believe there’s something to this ghost hunting business.

Almost, but not quite. 

“Well, why don’t you—get to it then.” David waves his hands at Patrick in a gesture that he hopes is interpreted as _get to work_. “Start measuring things.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick says. He shrugs off the backpack he’s wearing, which David had been trying to ignore, because it looks like the kind of backpack you’d take to do outdoorsy things. Considering how worn down it is, it looks like it’s _actually_ been put to use for those outdoorsy things. It’s quite possibly the most incorrect backpack David has ever seen.

Patrick digs through the disgustingly utilitarian backpack and pulls out what Alexis might describe as a ‘thermometer that looks like a stun gun,’ but David knows is actually an infrared thermometer, because unlike Alexis, he cares about using the correct name for things. 

For the next several minutes, Patrick wanders around the room taking temperature readings and scribbling them in his tiny little notebook. David thinks a larger notebook would be more convenient, but of course, a larger notebook wouldn’t fit in Patrick’s jeans.

Not that David’s complaining about the jeans, exactly.

David spends this time leaning back against the wall, pretending to look at Instagram on his phone while watching Patrick’s every move.

“So, what’s the point to this?” David asks when he’s too bored of Instagram to feign interest in it any longer. “Do ghosts usually have a fever, or something?” he asks snarkily.

“More the opposite,” Patrick says, not taking the bait of David’s obvious skepticism. “They make things cooler. Surely you’ve felt it, before?”

David thinks about the cool breeze he felt when talking to Alexis the other day, then promptly dismisses it. “No. Never.”

Patrick shrugs easily, and David isn’t sure if Patrick believes him. “Well, I felt it. This morning. And now I’m back to confirm it.”

“And how’s _that_ going?” David asks. “And—where did you get that thing, anyway?”

“You said the ghost moved some of the candles, right?” Patrick asks, completely ignoring David’s questions.

“I _said_ the candles weren’t where I left them,” David snaps. “Or where I _thought_ I left them. I probably just—forgot. Or Ken moved them.”

“Ken?”

“Yes, Ken. He has the weekend off.” David realizes as Patrick stares blankly at him that Patrick hasn’t actually _met_ Ken, yet. “Ken is—my employee?” David says. It feels weird, to say it that way. David has an _employee_ , because David is a small business owner. It’s so weird. 

“Okay, well, earlier you made it sound like the candles were on a really high shelf. Is Ken particularly tall?”

“Um, no. He’s… not. But it was only the cinnamon candles that were on the high shelf,” David says defensively.

“Well then. It sounds like your ghost—”

“—it’s not _my_ ghost,” David snaps.

“Okay. It sounds like _the_ ghost has a problem with cinnamon. So you might want to separate the cinnamon candles from the others. You could put them…” Patrick gestures to the back room. “In back? With a sign indicating they’re available on request.”

David wrinkles his nose. “I’m not doing that.”

Patrick shrugs. “You can do what you want. But so can the ghost. And—” Patrick jots something down in his notebook before looking up and meeting David’s eyes. “It’s two degrees cooler next to the cinnamon candles than it is anywhere else in the room.”

“There’s probably a draft. It’s an old building.”

“Okay, David.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” David snaps. He can’t take any more of Patrick’s nonchalant attitude. “Doesn’t it bother you that I don’t believe you? That I don’t believe in—what you’re doing?”

“Not really. Either there’s a ghost, or there isn’t. Whether or not you believe in it doesn’t really make a difference to me. And besides,” Patrick adds, smirking slightly, “you’re paying me either way.”

“I most certainly am not,” David says. “I’m only paying you if you fix this mess.”

“What mess?”

“The—you know. The… stuff. That’s been happening.”

“The supernatural incidents.”

“No. The _weird stuff_ which I’m sure has a _very reasonable_ explanation.”

“Hm.” Patrick finally stuffs the little notebook back in his pocket and returns the infrared thermometer to his backpack. The next item he pulls out of his backpack is—

“Oh my _god_ ,” David says. “Is that a _Sony Walkman_?”

“Um. Not quite. I think it’s—” Patrick squints at it. “Panasonic, actually? And it’s a cassette recorder, not a Walkman.” Patrick presses a button with a loud _click_. “And now it’s recording.”

“Mmkay, but I didn’t say you could record me.”

“Then you don’t have to say anything,” Patrick replies. “In fact, it’s better if you don’t. I just want to get some of the ambient sounds in the store.” Patrick carefully sets the recorder down on the counter, grabs a chair from the back room, and sits down on that chair in the middle of the store, as if it’s _his_ store and he’s welcome to make himself at home there however he likes.

David thinks about grabbing a chair and sitting down, too, but if he does that, Patrick might think he’s okay with all of this. Patrick might think they can stay here _all night_ , wasting David’s time with this nonsense. So David stays right where he is, leaning against the cold, uncomfortable wall. 

Patrick takes out his notebook and begins scribbling again. It’s like he’s forgotten David is even there. David lasts through about thirty seconds of silently glaring at Patrick before he breaks. “Where did you get that thing, anyway?” he asks.

Patrick looks up in surprise. “This notebook? Um, it was a gift from—”

“No, I mean…” David waves at the ancient cassette recorder. “That thing.”

“Oh. Actually—funny story. That belongs to Ray.”

“You mean—Ray Butani?

“Yes, Ray Butani, I don’t think there’s another Ray around here.” Patrick closes the notebook. “I rent a room from him.”

“ _You_. Rent a room. From Ray?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“Mmhm. And… how is it? Living with Ray?”

So Patrick tells him how it is with living Ray. He says it’s mostly good, but Ray is very talkative, and doesn’t have much of a sense of personal space. They commiserate about the lack of decent housing options in Schitt’s Creek, although David narrowly manages to avoid outright saying that he lives at the motel. David’s in the middle of telling Patrick about the time Alexis nearly rented that murder den of an apartment with soundproof walls when he hears the tape recorder click off.

“Oh, that’s—well. I guess that side is done,” Patrick says. He looks disappointed, for some reason. Patrick gets up to retrieve the tape recorder, and David definitely doesn’t look at Patrick’s thighs when he’s standing up. Just like he absolutely doesn’t look at Patrick’s forearms as he picks up the recorder and pops the tape out to flip it over to the other side.

“You need to record _more_?” David asks incredulously. “I thought I’d get to go home soon.”

“Yeah, about that—I actually was hoping to hang out here until a bit past midnight? I understand if that’s too late for you, though—if you want to get going, I can lock up when I leave.”

“Excuse me. I’m not leaving a _stranger_ in my store alone at night.”

“A stranger? Really?”

“Okay, you’re not a _stranger_ , exactly but—well—we _just_ met. I don’t know you that well.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick says tightly. “I get it. It’s okay if you don’t trust me with your store.”

David can tell Patrick’s feelings are hurt, and even though he doesn’t particularly _like_ Patrick, or trust in his ability to hunt a ghost that doesn’t exist, because ghosts aren’t real—well. This one particular thing isn’t really about Patrick. So David tries to explain himself.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, well, maybe I don’t trust you, but—I don’t trust _anyone_ , not when it comes to—to this. This store is—it’s all I have?” David laughs, even though nothing about this is funny. “And I know that’s pathetic, but—I am literally paying a random man my sister found to get rid of an imaginary ghost, because I care that much about this fucking store. So it’s not that I don’t trust _you_ , it’s more like—I don’t trust myself? To not fuck it up? Sorry,” David says, finally stopping to catch his breath. “That was a lot.”

David stares very intently at an old stain on the ceiling for a moment. When he finally brings himself to look at Patrick, Patrick’s eyes are wide, and he looks—he looks _fond_. He’s gazing fondly at David, as if David just said something wonderful, and not something horribly embarrassing. And—and what if it’s not actually fondness, what if it’s _pity_ ; pity for David, who has so little going right in his life, that all he has is this fucking _store_ —

“The ghost isn’t imaginary,” Patrick says, interrupting David’s spiral of thoughts. “She’s real.”

“ _What_?” David can’t believe _that_ is what Patrick took away from what he just said. “How—how do you know the ghost is a _she_?”

“Just a feeling,” Patrick says. “Male ghosts are usually more, um—well. They usually cause bigger problems? Than the ones you’ve had so far?”

“That’s awfully sexist of you,” David says. 

Patrick shrugs. “Well, since you think the ghost is _imaginary_ , you can imagine them as any gender you’d like.”

“Hmph,” David replies.

Patrick picks the tape recorder back up and goes to hit record, then stops. “Um—this time, we should probably… actually stay quiet? I need to be able to hear the ambient noise of the store.”

“Hmph,” David says. “Fine.”

“I’ll grab you a chair,” Patrick says, heading into the back room again. 

“You don’t—” David is cut off by the sound of Patrick loudly dragging a chair along the floor. “—have to do that,” David mutters under his breath.

“Here,” Patrick says, placing the chair next to the one he’d brought out earlier, and brushing his hands together as if he’s very proud of himself and his hard work. “Now you can sit with me.”

“And not talk.”

“That’s right.”

David sits next to Patrick, and they don’t talk. And… it’s not bad. It’s kind of nice, actually, to have company while scrolling through Instagram and winding down from a long day at work. 

It is hard to keep from staring at Patrick’s jeans, though. They’re just—really awful jeans. He probably bought them at The Gap. Or… or on clearance at Mark's. They’re terrible, and that’s definitely the only reason why David can’t look away. 

*

Patrick takes the rest of the weekend off, and the store is closed on Mondays, so David doesn’t see Patrick again until he stops by the store Tuesday morning.

Except this time, Patrick isn’t alone.

“Oh my god, David, you didn’t tell me Patrick had made so much progress _already_ with your little ghost problem.” Alexis takes a sip of her drink. David sees that she decided to risk a smoothie at the cafe today—it’s not green, so it’s probably safe. 

“I don’t _have_ a ghost problem,” David says through gritted teeth.

“Ugh, David, you’re so _stubborn_. Patrick told me the ghost is an old lady!”

“Not old, necessarily,” Patrick says quickly. “Just—not _young_. Ghosts can be sensitive about their age at time of death, so it’s best not to be too specific, on that one.”

“Oh, of course.” Alexis nods and takes another sip of her smoothie. “That’s what Travis always used to say—he’s the paranormal investigator I used to date; he’s a friend of John Edward’s? He’s, like, _really_ good, he managed to help Alex Trebek get rid of a _really_ stubborn ghost that was haunting his vacation home in Muskoka.”

“Oh—wow. That’s—um. Why was the ghost so stubborn?” Patrick stammers.

“Oh, it turned out he was, like, murdered? It was really gruesome, he—”

David clears his throat loudly. “Patrick? Did you have any updates for me?”

Is Patrick _blushing_? “Oh—right. Yes. I’ll just—” Patrick has that same backpack, today, but this time when he shrugs it off and reaches inside, he pulls out a laptop. “I made a spreadsheet this weekend, I wanted to go over it with you.”

“You made—a _spreadsheet_?” 

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Ooh!” Alexis tries to clap her hands gleefully, but the smoothie she’s holding gets in the way. “Are you tracking the temperature? Or EMF readings?”

“Oh, I don’t really—I’m not that fancy, I just took a few temperature readings, it’s more about—”

“Travis always said it’s important to collect a lot of data, because—”

“We don’t want to hear about your psychotic ex-boyfriend,” David snaps. 

“Well excuse _me_ ,” Alexis says, “but didn’t you _also_ date a ghost hunter for a while, David?”

“Um, Liam was _not_ a ghost hunter, he was an experimental exorcist, and it was more like performance art, really? And I didn’t _date_ him, I just—uh—” David trails off, unsure how to say ‘got really high and fucked him a few times’ in front of his sister and his… ghost hunter? Whatever Patrick is to David, he definitely doesn’t need to hear about Liam.

“Okay, well…” Alexis thinks for a moment. “Didn’t Toni have some experience with the paranormal?”

“Toni and I shared a deeply intimate connection and I will not betray her confidence like this.”

“Toni was your _pen pal_ , David.”

“Look, it’s not _my_ fault she was serving fifteen to life for—”

“Okay!” Patrick interrupts. “My computer’s booted up, if you want to see what I’ve got so far.”

Patrick comes around behind the cash so that he can stand next to David while showing him the spreadsheet. Alexis follows, and there’s really not room for three to gather around Patrick’s laptop, so Patrick is squeezed in between David and Alexis. David tries to make himself smaller, to give Patrick room, but he still can’t help brushing shoulders with him occasionally. 

David wants to hate Patrick’s spreadsheet, but he can’t help but be impressed by it. It’s very organized, and lays out all the information he’s gathered so far in a way that’s surprisingly easy to understand. Patrick’s explaining it all very thoroughly, too, and David finds he wants to actually listen to what Patrick has to say. Except he can’t, because of the distractingly loud sound of Alexis slurping at her now-empty smoothie.

“Oh my god, Alexis,” David finally snaps. “Just go get another smoothie, okay?”

“Um, _excuse_ me, I’m sorry if Twyla made, like, a surprisingly good smoothie today!”

“Great, you can go get another one!” The lights are flickering, but David ignores them. They always do that. It’s nothing. “Maybe it will encourage her to keep making good smoothies. And you can get me a coffee while you’re out.”

“Your coffee order is _impossible_ ,” Alexis retorts. “And it’s really embarrassing.”

“Um, Twyla _knows_ I always order a caramel macchiato skim with two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder, it’s not like she’ll think you’re ordering it for _yourself_.” The flickering lights are now accompanied by a distant wailing sound, which is probably just the wind, or something. 

“Ugh!” Alexis drops her empty cup down on the counter, where it topples over on its side. “Your ghost is being, like, _super_ annoying right now. I’m leaving.”

“Are you just going to leave that there? I’m not throwing it away for you!” David shouts as Alexis flounces out the door.

David lets out a long, exasperated sigh, and turns towards Patrick to apologize for his sister’s behavior, except he moves too quickly, forgetting that Patrick is standing right next to him, and he ends up elbowing Patrick in the process.

“Oh—oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just—” Patrick backs away, trying to put a normal amount of personal space between them, and David has a sudden moment of panic where he thinks maybe he forgot to put on deodorant that morning. But, no, he definitely remembered; he always remembers, why would he forget something so essential, that would be absurd. 

“My sister is _such_ a slob—” David and Patrick reach for the empty smoothie cup at the same time, and their hands briefly touch. Patrick pulls away so fast it’s like he’s been burned. 

“You don’t have to clean up after her, she’s _my_ sister,” David snaps. He doesn’t know why he’s so irritated that Patrick clearly doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. David doesn’t want Patrick anywhere near him, either. He doesn’t even want Patrick in his _store_ ; why should it matter if Patrick doesn’t want to touch him?

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after her, either,” Patrick says gently. 

“Well, someone needs to clean up after her, if she’s going to make a mess of my store.” David picks up the cup and goes to throw it away in the dumpster out back, even though there’s a closer trash bin inside the store. If Patrick wants space, he’ll give him space.

When he comes back, Patrick’s tinkering with his spreadsheet. “Did you have any questions?” Patrick asks. “I know you were kind of distracted by—um. I just mean, if there’s anything else you wanted to know—”

“No, no, it seemed pretty straightforward,” David says. “It’s... it’s a good spreadsheet.”

“Really?” Patrick looks up from his laptop. “You think it’s good?”

“I mean, as far as spreadsheets about fake supernatural phenomena go—”

Patrick is fully smirking, now. “Right. It’s important to manage your expectations, when it comes to supernatural spreadsheets.”

“The _spreadsheet_ isn’t supernatural,” David says. “The spreadsheet is fine. It’s just—the content that’s supernatural.”

“I see,” Patrick says. “So it’s only the things _in_ the spreadsheet you have a problem with.”

“Mmhm.”

“But not… the spreadsheet itself.”

“That’s correct.” David is pretty sure Patrick is making fun of him, and he does not appreciate it at all.

Patrick stands there smirking for a moment, because he’s a jerk, and then he turns and begins putting his laptop away.

“Now that I’ve got some data on the ghost, the next step is to do some historical research.”

“Research?” David says. “That sounds—complicated.”

“Not really. I just need to stop by town hall and request some old records.”

“Oh. Okay.” David thinks for a moment. “Wait—you made that spreadsheet over the weekend. And—and now you need to go to town hall.”

“That is what I just said, yes.”

“I didn’t know you’d be doing—um, research. Outside of the time you’re here at the store.”

“I take my job very seriously.”

David doesn’t understand how Patrick, a literal ghost hunter, can say that with a straight face. “Yes, but—this is a flat rate gig,” David says. “I’m not paying you for any extra work.”

“Okay.” Patrick doesn’t seem perturbed by this bad financial news, but David still feels bad, for some reason.

“Just—just to make that clear.” David clears his throat. “I’m only paying you what we agreed on.”

“David. That’s all I expect from you. I promise.”

David nods. Patrick explains a bit more about what he has to look up at town hall, but David isn’t listening. The only part he catches is that Patrick will be back the next day to follow up on what he learns at town hall.

Once Patrick is gone, the store feels weirdly empty. Even when customers come through, it’s just a little too quiet, a little too lonely. David almost finds himself wishing Alexis would come back.

Then Alexis _does_ come back, and David regrets his almost-wish, because he has to spend ten minutes trying to keep her from stealing the new peppermint chapstick. 

At the end of the day, when David notices the peppermint chapstick is now prominently displayed at the front of the store, he assumes Alexis must have moved it there earlier without him noticing. It’s clearly the most logical explanation. 

He doesn’t ask Alexis about it, though. 

*

The next morning, Ken is finally back from his weekend getaway, or wherever it was he went, and David has a lot of errands to catch up on. He has to go to the bank, and visit a vendor who lives just outside of Elmdale, and then rush back to Schit’s Creek to meet _another_ vendor for lunch at Cafe Tropical. Except they’re running late, and then they _won’t stop talking_ , so lunch isn’t over until 2pm. 

David nearly runs back to the store—he’s certain that Ken will be upset about his late return. But when he walks through the door, he doesn’t see Ken at all. In fact, he doesn’t see _anyone_ in the store.

“Ken?” David’s voice rises with irritation. “Are you _here_?”

David doesn’t hear a response, exactly, but he does hear voices drifting out of the stock room. He looks around desperately for something that could be used as a weapon, because—you never know, maybe it’s a robber, or a burglar, and they’re holding Ken hostage—but then he listens more closely, and realizes he recognizes the voices he’s hearing. 

David lets out a _loud_ sigh, loud enough that he hopes it’s audible in the stock room, and then heads towards the back of the store so he can give Ken a piece of his mind. In the stock room, he finds exactly what he expects: Ken and Patrick, deep in conversation. Except it’s not quite what he expects, because Ken is standing weirdly close to Patrick—Ken is usually very good about personal space—and Patrick is leaning against the wall in a way that’s probably supposed to look casual, but doesn’t look casual _at all_. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, or at least, as much as of his hands as he can _fit_ in his pockets, considering how tight his jeans are.

Ken has his back to David, so Patrick sees David first. When he sees him, he gets a look on his face that almost seems—guilty? Is that guilt?—and he pulls his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms.

“Well,” Patrick says. “You finally showed up.”

“Yes, once I finished _doing my job_ , which I was unable to do for three days while Ken was off relaxing and rejuvenating, something that I would absolutely _love_ to do again some day before I’m old and decrepit.”

“I wasn’t relaxing,” Ken says cheerfully. “I was hiking. It was very strenuous.”

“Yeah, Ken was just telling me about all the good hiking trails around here, although I’m already familiar with—”

“Mmhm, this all sounds very interesting for both of you. Is there any chance you can talk about it when you’re _not_ supposed to be working?” Patrick looks sheepishly down at his feet. Ken… doesn’t look ashamed at all. He’s still staring dreamily at Patrick. Whatever the fuck is going on here, David wants nothing to do with it. So he turns around and leaves. Maybe Ken will decide to follow him so he can do the job David is _paying_ him to do, instead of flirting with Patrick all day. Why is Ken interested in Patrick, anyway? What kind of person wants to date a ghost hunter who looks like an accountant? 

A few minutes later, David hears someone coming out of the stock room. He turns around expecting to see Ken, but instead it’s Patrick. 

“Where’s Ken?” David asks. 

“Oh, he went out the back, he’s running over to the cafe for a sandwich.”

“I didn’t say he could take a break.”

“Well, he’s been here since 9am; he hasn’t had a chance to eat lunch yet.”

 _Neither have I_ , David wants to say, except that’s not true, because he literally just came from eating lunch at the cafe. It’s not Ken’s fault that David ordered a disappointing salad and is still hungry. It’s not Patrick’s fault, either. 

David grunts out a response that he hopes comes across as _fine, I will accept that even though I do not like it_. Then a customer comes in, and she has some questions about the cat fur scarves; ten minutes later, she’s leaving with _two_ scarves and some body milk, because David is good at his job. He’s good at this, and he knows it, and he clings to that because he’s not entirely sure what else he’s good at. Certainly not dealing with Ken. Or Patrick.

Patrick, who is still there, hovering awkwardly next to the candles in the corner.

“What do you need?” David very politely asks once the customer has left. At least, he’s trying to be polite. He’s not sure he has much patience left today for Patrick. Or ghosts, which is probably what Patrick’s here to discuss.

“Well. Uh. I stopped by town hall…”

“And?”

“Um. I need to do more research.”

“Okay, and? Did they not have what you were looking for?”

“Oh, no, they had it, but—I couldn’t get it. There was a… complication.”

“A complication.” 

“That’s right.”

David gestures for Patrick to go on, but Patrick… doesn’t. “Okay, so _what_ was the complication?” David asks. 

“It’s… complicated.”

“Yes, I got that part. What _is_ it?”

“It’s, um, the woman at town hall—she doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

David is suddenly afraid that he knows where this is going. “Oh god, did my mother—”

“No, no, definitely not, but also—your mother works at town hall?”

“She’s on town council.”

“Right. So, that would have been helpful information to have had before this. But, since I _didn’t_ know that, I went in today, and the person who helped me—well, who I _asked_ to help me—was some woman named Ronnie. And she was _not_ helpful. At all.”

“Really?” David thinks back on his past interactions with Ronnie. “She’s always been perfectly nice to me. She even helped me one time when I was driving the Lincoln and I got a flat tire.”

“Yeah, something tells me that I am not going to be calling Ronnie next time I get a flat tire,” Patrick mutters, and David can feel something highly inappropriate happening to his face, because Patrick is _funny_ when he’s annoyed like this. David tries his best to force his face back into a neutral expression. 

“Maybe you should call Ken, instead.” David presses his lips together in an attempt to keep any more words from coming out of his mouth. Why did he say that? He doesn’t want Patrick to call Ken. From the look on his face, Patrick doesn’t want to call Ken, either. 

The lights flicker, and David wonders if maybe he should try calling Ronnie for a fourth time. It might be fun to ask about her side of what happened with Patrick, too.

“Anyway,” Patrick says, “I’m going to do some more research tonight. I’ll come by tomorrow to let you know what I find.”

“Why not just—text me? Or call me, if you’re one of those strange millennials who actually talks on the phone. I know you have my number.”

“Right. I could just… text you.” Patrick takes his phone out of his pocket, as if he’s going to text David right then and there, then puts it away a moment later. “Well. One way or another, you’ll be hearing from me. I’ll just—get going, then.”

“That’s probably for the best. I have work to do.” 

“So do I,” Patrick says, raising an eyebrow—that is, if what Patrick has above his eyes counts as eyebrows. David isn’t sure. 

“Yes, ‘work,’ hunting _ghosts_ —” But David doesn’t get a chance to finish making fun of Patrick’s profession, because Ken walks through the door.

“Patrick! You’re still here!” Ken exclaims. “I’m glad I caught you—I wanted to give you this.” At first, David thinks Ken is trying to give Patrick his sandwich, but then David sees that he’s holding a slip of paper.

“What is—oh. _Oh_.”

Patrick takes the paper and shoves it in his pocket.

“Give me a call some time.” Ken is practically beaming with joy. Apparently, Ken smiles a lot when he’s flirting. David’s never seen flirty Ken before, and he’s beginning to hope he never sees flirty Ken again. It’s as if Ken is stealing all of his happiness directly from David, because the more Ken smiles, the more annoyed David feels. If Ken gets too happy, David’s worried he may turn downright homicidal. 

“Okay, well, I’ll just be—” Patrick brushes past Ken and is out the door before he manages to finish his sentence. 

“Well, for your sake, I hope he gets a flat tire on his way home,” David says. 

“What?” Ken looks confused, but his smile hasn’t faded one bit.

“Never mind,” David sighs. “Go eat your sandwich.”

Somehow, David makes it through the rest of the day. That night, he treats himself to one of Alexis’s face masks, which he is completely entitled to, considering how much she’s taken from the store. _And_ , it’s her fault he has to put up with Patrick every day. She probably owes him two face masks, at this point. 

David’s just getting settled into bed when his phone buzzes.

**From:** +1 (555) 867-5309  
  
**867-5309:** Can you meet me at 8am tomorrow? It’s important.   
  


David stares at the message for a moment before responding.

**From:** +1 (555) 867-5309  
  
**David:** Who is this?  
  
**867-5309:** This is Patrick.  
  


David stares at the full-stop period at the end of that text, and wonders if Patrick is a serial killer.

**From:** +1 (555) 867-5309  
  
**David:** Why are you texting me now?  
  
**867-5309:** Because you asked me to?  
  
**David:** This is not what I had in mind  
  


David stares at the text conversation for a moment, and the string of numbers at the top of the screen is hurting his eyes. He’s just finishing up with adding Patrick as a contact when he feels his phone buzz again.

**From:** Patrick  
  
**Patrick:** So, 8am tomorrow? At the store. Like I said, it’s important.  
  
**David:** The point to texting me is that you can tell me the important thing now  
  
**David:** At 10pm  
  
**David:** When I am awake  
  
**David:** And not tomorrow at 8am  
  
**David:** When I would like to be asleep  
  
**Patrick:** It will be worth it. Trust me.  
  
**David:** Nothing is worth it at 8am  
  
**David:** And I don’t trust people   
  


David doesn’t realize how brutally honest that last text is until right after he sends it. Patrick has a way of tricking these sorts of confessions out of him, and he doesn’t like it. It makes him feel _seen_ , even when Patrick isn’t in the room and can’t actually see him.

**From:** Patrick  
  
**Patrick:** Well, it’s a good thing I’m not people, then. I’m just a small town ghost hunter  
  
**Patrick:** Livin’ in a lonely world  
  
**David:** I will see you at 8am tomorrow if you stop right now  
  
**David:** Good night  
  
**Patrick:** Sleep tight! Don’t take the midnight train  
  
**David:** I will see you at 8:30am  
  


*

David is annoyed with Patrick, but he’s also feeling weirdly guilty about giving him such a hard time, so he shows up at Rose Apothecary promptly at 8:30am the next morning. He even convinces himself to skip his morning coffee, so he’s not late. 

But Patrick isn’t there yet. David lets himself into the store and putters around for a few minutes. He’s just starting to think about texting Patrick when he hears the door open.

“Sorry I’m late,” Patrick says. “I didn’t realize how long it took Twyla to make your coffee order.”

Patrick holds out a cup of coffee, which David reaches out and takes before he has a chance to think better of it. “You didn’t have to do that,” David says. “I probably won’t like it, I’m very picky about my coffee.”

“You’re welcome.” Somehow, Patrick doesn’t look offended, which surprises David, because he knows he was quite rude. “But you _should_ like it—it’s exactly how you described it the other day.”

“What—I didn’t tell you my coffee order.”

“Well, no, but you told Alexis. Caramel macchiato skim with two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder, right?”

“That’s—” _exactly right_ , except David doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction of being right. “That sounds acceptable.”

“I’m glad.” Patrick smirks and takes a sip of his own drink. It’s probably green tea, or something similarly healthy and disgusting. David has a sudden mental image of the Kermit drinking tea meme, and he struggles to get himself to focus. Maybe drinking coffee will help.

He takes a sip of the coffee—it’s delicious.

“So,” David says between sips. “What’s the important news?”

“I figured out who the ghost is.” Patrick looks very smug. 

David takes another sip of coffee. “That’s it?” 

“What—what do you mean _that’s it_? I did the job you hired me to do!” 

“I hired you to get rid of the ghost. Which doesn’t exist, because ghosts aren’t real.”

“Right. Except this ghost is real, and her name is Bea Schitt.”

David’s face does five different things before he figures out how to respond. “That’s—wow. That’s quite a name.”

“You never really get used to it, do you?”

“Anyway. What makes you think the ghost is Bea—um. Roland’s… grandmother?”

“His great great aunt, actually. And I don’t think the ghost is Bea Schitt. I know she is.”

“Mmkay. So. How do you _know_ that ghost is…”

Patrick smirks. “You really can’t say her name, can you?”

David throws his hands up in the air. “I don’t know, maybe this is like Beetlejuice, and you’ve already said her name _twice_ , so I’d rather not take any chances, thank you.”

“Oh, so _now_ you believe she’s real?” Patrick’s smirk grows into a genuine smile. Patrick has a very nice smile, and it almost makes up for how annoying he’s being right now. 

“That’s not—it’s— _ugh_. Just tell me what you know.”

“Alright,” Patrick finally relents. “Well. Beatrice Sch—”

“No,” David interrupts. “Remember? You already said it _twice_.”

“Right. Well. Roland’s great great aunt used to run the general store, back in the early 1900s. Apparently the Schitt family has a very strong oral tradition.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“No, I mean—um. I mean. They pass down a lot of family stories to the next generation. Roland told me _all_ about Bea—um. His great great aunt. Can I stop saying ‘great great’ and just say aunt?”

“Fine. Just don’t say her name.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to anger the spirits.”

David glares at Patrick, but Patrick doesn’t seem to care.

“Anyway,” Patrick continues. “Roland told me about his aunt, and her older brother, Richard, who went by Dick.”

David nods vigorously. “Got it. Please don’t say his name, either.”

“Of course. So, Roland’s aunt and uncle didn’t exactly get along. She had a real aversion to sibling rivalries—couldn’t stand to see other siblings fight. She was always meddling in other people’s business, trying to fix their disputes.”

“So it runs in the family,” David mutters.

“She also had a cinnamon allergy, or—an aversion to it, I guess? She couldn’t smell it without sneezing and getting a horrible headache.”

“Right. So you’re telling me, my ghost has a _cinnamon allergy_.”

“Yes.”

“Ghosts don’t have noses. Ghosts don’t have _heads_ , because they don’t have a body, because they aren’t _real_. So why does my ghost care about the fucking _cinnamon candles_?” David gestures so broadly that he almost bumps over one of the cinnamon candles in question. He doesn’t care, though. Why bother with cinnamon candles if the _ghost_ doesn’t like it? What if the ghost doesn’t like _anything_ in David’s store? What if he goes out of business because a fucking _ghost_ decided she didn’t like—

“David,” Patrick says. David’s caught off guard by how softly Patrick is speaking; David imagines this must be how Patrick talks to his clients who are afraid of ghosts, except David isn’t afraid of ghosts, because ghosts _are not real_. “I’m sure Bea—I’m sure she doesn’t mean any harm. Just keep the cinnamon candles in back like I suggested, and don’t be mean to Alexis when you’re here.”

“I’m not _mean_ to Alexis.” David can’t believe that Patrick is judging his relationship with Alexis like this. Patrick’s probably an only child. He doesn’t understand. “I’m perfectly nice to Alexis! She’s the problem; she’s a _menace_ , always stealing chapstick, and—and rearranging things, and distracting me when I’m trying to—”

David stops talking, but not because Patrick is shushing him, even though Patrick _is_ shushing him. He stops because he can hear something in the background. It’s a high-pitched screeching sort of sound, almost a wail.

“You see?” Patrick whispers. “You’re making her mad.”

“That’s just—it’s an air vent. It’s a weird vent, and it makes that noise sometimes.”

“Mmhm.”

“This building is old! It makes sounds. Old buildings do that. I once went to a living statue exhibit at an old warehouse in Montreal, and there were all _kinds_ of weird noises.”

“Right. Well. I’m pretty sure _this_ noise is the result of this old building being haunted. By a ghost.”

The noise gets louder, and is joined by a second noise, which sounds a bit like groaning. It’s probably the structural support for the building, or something. Maybe everything’s about to come tumbling down all around him. At least the insurance would cover that. Or—David’s pretty sure it would. Insurance probably doesn’t cover ghosts, though.

“David. Say something nice about your sister.”

“She’s—she has very nice skin. Probably because she uses skincare products that she stole from this store.”

“ _David_.”

David tries to think of something— _anything_ —he can say about Alexis that might be considered ‘nice.’ It’s more difficult than it ought to be. David is beginning to realize he might not be a very nice person.

“She’s… um… she’s working very hard in school. Going to Elmdale College.”

“That’s good!” Patrick sounds more enthusiastic about Elmdale College than anyone in their right mind should. “Keep going.”

“She’s good at staying safe in dangerous situations. Even though she gets _herself_ into those situations in the _first_ place, when she _could_ just say ‘no’ when David Geffen invites her onto his yacht, or when—”

Patrick shakes his head vigorously. The wailing is reaching a volume that David worries might cause hearing damage, and a pitch that may soon only be audible to dogs. 

“Alexis is brave!” David blurts out. “She’s so much braver than I am, and—and I can’t _stand_ it, she’s _fearless_ , and sometimes it gets her into trouble, but—but mostly it’s just _infuriating_ , that she doesn't seem to _care_ about what might go wrong, or what other people think. And… she’s smart, most people don’t think she’s smart, but she’s _really_ fucking smart; probably she’s smarter than I am, too. Not that I’m all _that_ smart, but, well, I started a business, I’m not _stupid_ —”

“No, you’re not,” Patrick says. “And you’re not—David. You’re brave, too.”

David has no idea how to react to that. Saying nice things about Alexis was bad enough; having to accept a compliment from Patrick makes David wish that maybe the building would collapse on top of him, after all. “Thank you,” he manages.

“In fact, I think you’re brave enough to attempt some pretty drastic reorganization of your store. Like maybe…” Patrick picks up a cinnamon candle and gestures towards the back of the store. “Moving these?” 

David sighs. “Fine. But on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to help move them.”

With Patrick’s help, they move the candles in no time at all.

“Thanks for your help,” David says when they’re done. “I can stop by Ray’s tomorrow with a check for you. Or do you prefer cash?”

“Oh, that’s—” Patrick rubs the back of his neck. “That won’t be necessary. I didn’t really solve your problem, right? You still have a ghost.”

“Right. But—you did tell me how to stop pissing her off. That’s worth something.”

Patrick clears his throat. “Actually, I was wondering if—uh, if you’d like to meet me for dinner tonight? At the cafe.”

“Why? Is there more—fuck. Are there more ghosts here?”

“What? No, no. I just—I’d like to talk to you some more. And—and you were…” Patrick is blushing. Why is Patrick blushing? “I know you weren’t really happy about this whole, um, ghost thing. And you weren’t happy about—you know. Me being here. So I’d like to make it up to you somehow.”

David doesn’t really understand Patrick’s reasoning, but he doesn't know how to say ‘no’ without seeming impolite. And, he realizes, he doesn’t _want_ to say no. 

“Sure,” David agrees. “I’ll meet you for dinner tonight.”

*

Stevie  
  
You need to come to the cafe with me tonight  
  
Only if you’re paying  
  
Fine  
  
Wow, you agreed way too fast  
  
What’s up  
  
Remember the ghost hunter?  
  
Yes, Patrick, the guy you haven’t shut up about for the past week  
  
He invited me to dinner tonight  
  
He’s being really weird  
  
Asking someone on a date is not weird  
  
It’s not a date  
  
I will bet you a bottle of Rose Apothecary’s finest wine that it’s a date  
  
Fine  
  
Because you’re wrong  
  
You can pay for your wine for once  
  


*

When David shows up to Cafe Tropical that night, Patrick is wearing a blazer. And he has—oh my god, why is there a _gift bag_ on the table? 

“Is that a—gift?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just a silly thing from—you know. The ghost. Thing. You can look at it later, it’s really not a big deal.” Patrick seems eager to change the subject, so the conversation quickly pivots to the incomprehensible size of the Cafe Tropical menu, and David almost manages to forget about the gift bag lurking at the other end of the booth. 

Then Stevie shows up, and Patrick goes to the bathroom, and—fuck.

This is definitely a date. 

When Patrick gets back from the bathroom, he and Stevie force David to open the gift, because they’re both terrible. 

“This is the first gift I haven’t bought myself in a very long time, so thank you,” David says. “And this includes my birthday three months ago, which even _Stevie_ didn’t buy me a gift for,” David adds, glaring at Stevie, who does not look nearly as guilty as David thinks she should. 

“You’re gonna be so underwhelmed, when you open it, it’s not—see? It’s nothing,” Patrick says as David reaches into the bag and pulls out… a frame. A hideous frame. And inside that frame is—

“Oh. Oh no,” David says. “Is this—”

“The one and only,” Patrick confirms. “Bea Schitt herself.”

“She looks—um. Wow. I didn’t expect her to look _that much_ like Roland.”

“Yeah, the resemblance is striking. I found a picture of Dick, too, if you’re interested.”

Twyla shows up with some mozzarella sticks, which rescues David from having to answer that question.

Stevie clears her throat. “Well. I forgot, I have a—I have to go, so. I’ll leave you two to your, uh, dick pics, or whatever.” She grabs a few mozzarella sticks on the way out, which is probably for the best, because David isn’t feeling very hungry anymore. 

“Um, anyway,” Patrick says as he sits back down. “It’s nothing, really. I just thought you might like to see what your ghost looked like, back when she was alive. And it might make her less irritable, if she knows that people remember her.”

“Okay, but, this is _not_ nothing, so—thank you.” David brushes a hand over the frame. “Um—this frame, though. It’s a little too corporate for my brand?”

“Right. Well. I’ll try to do better next time.”

“Next time?” David asks. “Are you planning on finding more ghosts in my store? Don’t you have new clients to help, now?”

“Yeah, about that.” Patrick clears his throat. “I have a confession to make. I’m, uh...”

David braces himself for the worst. Maybe Patrick’s an undercover reporter, sent here to write an exposé on the Rose family. Or maybe it’s more serious; maybe he’s undercover with the FBI, or the CRA, or even the CIA—

“I’m not really a ghost hunter,” Patrick blurts out.

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, during which David stares at Patrick, and Patrick looks vaguely ashamed. 

“But—you hunted my ghost,” David says. 

“She’s not _your_ ghost, David.” Patrick smiles slightly. “Bea never got married; she belongs to no man. Or… no person, I suppose.”

“Right. But—she’s haunting _my_ store. And you got her to stop.”

“Technically, she’s still haunting you; she’s just refraining from instigating paranormal events now that you aren’t provoking—”

“Okay, I get it, but—you still hunted a ghost in my store. How are you not a ghost hunter?”

“Well, I’ve dabbled in paranormal investigation, I guess? I got paid for it under the table a few times in high school. And I helped out a friend with a haunting at his frat house when I was at university. But I’m not… this isn’t my job. I work for Ray, helping small businesses with paperwork, things like that.”

“Wait. If you help small businesses—why haven’t I met you before?”

“I only just moved to Schitt’s Creek a few weeks ago,” Patrick says.

Patrick tells David a bit about his life before Schitt’s Creek; about working a 9-to-5 job that never felt right, about feeling stuck. David fills Patrick in on his past few years in Schitt’s Creek, and even a bit about his life before, because—well. Patrick has a way of making David open up to him without even trying.

Patrick seems like he’s opening up a bit, too. It makes David feel more at ease, knowing he’s not the only one showing more of his true self than he’s usually comfortable with. 

As Patrick drives David back to the motel, David realizes this is the best first date he’s ever been on.

And as David leans in and kisses Patrick, he has the wild thought that maybe, just maybe, Bea Schitt is a pretty good matchmaker.


End file.
